


Thicker Than Vodka

by randomling



Series: A Little Blood Thing [1]
Category: Popslash
Genre: Bloodplay, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-04-23
Updated: 2008-04-23
Packaged: 2017-10-11 05:31:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/108939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/randomling/pseuds/randomling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Joey and Chris get a little gory.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thicker Than Vodka

Joey couldn't really blame Chris for what happened. First of all, because Chris was really, _really_ drunk. Second, because Joey was pretty drunk himself. And third, because there wasn't really anything to blame him for, in the end.

They'd finally staggered out of the club at about 3am, with Chris making snarly, rambling comments about leaving the children to it. Joey almost mentioned the fact that JC was whole _months_ older than him, but he thought better of it, and congratulated himself on still having the ability to think better of stuff. Chris, who was now rambling about _fucking_ Wade and those _fucking_ high kicks as they took the short walk down to their waiting car, had clearly lost that ability already.

"Chris," said Joey, and put a hand on one of Chris's flailing arms to steady it.

Chris tried to shake Joey's arm off and misjudged it horribly – Joey's arm went swinging backward, and that set Joey slightly off balance, enough that he completely failed to dodge when Chris's hand came flying up to hit him in the mouth.

"OW!" Joey reeled back, his hands going automatically to his face. Chris spun-staggered-stopped and looked up at Joey. The expression of dawning horror on his face would have been funny if it hadn't been for the pain.

"Fuck, man, would you watch it?" Joey's voice came out sounding just a little weird, and it kind of hurt more to talk.

"Shit," said Chris. He covered his mouth with one hand and then dropped it again. "Shit, shit, man, I'm so sorry. It..." He stepped forward, hands reaching out toward Joey, and Joey instinctively lurched back.

Chris dropped his hands, but took another little step forward, obviously taking a lot of care to make small, precise movements. He peered at Joey's face intently.

"Fuck, dude. You're bleeding."

Gingerly, Joey explored his smarting mouth with the fingers of one hand. Sure enough, warm liquid coated his fingertips, and when he licked his lips he could taste blood, thick and a little sweet. He could feel where it was coming from, too - it was probably just a small split, he told himself, but it felt huge under his beer-clumsy hand. The pain was already fading back to a dull throb; probing the split with his fingers brought it back sharply and suddenly, forcing Joey to snatch his fingers back.

He sighed a little and licked the blood off his fingers thoughtfully, keeping the wound covered with his other hand. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Chris, who was watching him the whole time. There was concern written plainly on his face, and a brief flicker of something else, right as Joey sucked his fingers clean.

"Okay, man," said Chris. He held out one hand towards Joey. There was just a little unsteadiness in it, enough to match the slight quiver in his voice. "Let's get to the car and get you cleaned up."

Joey just nodded and walked past Chris, keeping his bleeding mouth covered with just the one hand. Chris followed him into the car, and Joey sank back into his seat, tipping his head back. It didn't help at all: the movement of his head just shifted things around a little, enough that his swollen lip throbbed a little harder. Joey drew in a sharp breath and righted himself, remembering that tipping back your head would only help a nosebleed, not a split lip.

Chris immediately slid over, right next to Joey, turned so that his knee pressed into Joey's leg.

"Let me see," he said, and he pulled Joey's hand from his mouth, his palms warm and dry against Joey's skin. Joey, feeling sluggish with booze and pain, didn't make any effort to resist. "Hmm," said Chris, in the voice he used when he was faking expertise.

"What's the diagnosis?" Joey asked.

Chris's mouth twitched into a smile. "I'm an idiot," he said. "Sorry, man."

"It's okay," Joey said, shaking his head.

Chris reached up and carefully put two fingers against Joey's split lip. Joey flinched automatically, but it didn't hurt nearly as much as he had expected. It was very weird to look down his nose and see only Chris's hand, feel Chris's fingertips resting lightly on his swollen lip; the disconnect was bizarre, like they were happening to two separate people, the pain in his mouth and Chris's caress. It was even weirder when Chris lifted his fingers off of Joey's face. Joey could see the blood on Chris's fingertips as, very slowly, he put them in his own mouth, and the movement of Chris's tongue as he licked his fingers clean.

Well, okay, weird wasn't even the _word._

Joey stayed perfectly still, still looking down his nose at Chris, who had two fingers of his right hand in his mouth, his left hand holding Joey's, down on Joey's thigh. He had the feeling of not being able to move. No – of not _wanting_ to move, like holding his whole arm rigid so that the ladybug on the back of his hand wouldn't fly away. He didn't know what Chris would do next, and he _wanted_ to know, and he didn't want to scare him off. So. No sudden movements.

What Chris did next was even stranger. He took his hand away from his mouth and leaned up, as if he was going to kiss Joey, but what happened in the end wasn't a kiss, not exactly. He put his mouth real close to Joey's and put out just the tip of his tongue to carefully and gently lick the blood off of Joey's lip. Joey shivered, and after a second he moved his own tongue out. Licked some blood off his lip, a spot Chris hadn't caught. Brushed his tongue carefully against Chris's, and darted away.

Chris's tongue followed Joey's. Their tongues connected again, licked lightly at each other. Joey could taste an evening's-worth of Moscow Mules, overlaid with the sweet, metallic taste of blood. He let out a little sigh, and Chris sighed too, and the next second they were kissing, and that was a problem because it might be awesome to be kissing Chris at last, and the blood still flowing from his lip might be giving it a real edge, but it also hurt like hell. Joey pulled away reluctantly and carefully prodded at his swollen lip. Shit. He wasn't going to be doing _that_ for a little while.

"Sorry," Chris said again; and then, almost in a whisper, "I kind of have a little blood thing."

"Mmm," said Joey. He slipped one arm around Chris, who settled comfortably against him, and after a moment's thought, pressed his index finger gently into the cut. By the time the pain had surged and receded, Joey's finger was damp with blood. The blood was still wet, for now, but pretty soon it would get sticky and start to clot. That was a real shame, considering. Joey licked at his lip and savoured the taste of the blood for a moment before swallowing.

He could totally dig the blood thing.

After a second, he put his bloodied finger to Chris's lips. Chris's tongue shot out, slick and eager, and licked Joey's finger clean. Joey smiled a little, because Chris's pupils were dilated, just a tiny bit, and the very tip of his tongue was still poking out of the corner of his mouth. If it meant making Chris look like that, Joey figured he could stand a little pain.

Keeping his arm clamped around Chris's shoulders, Joey put his hand back to his mouth for another round, and risked a glance down at Chris's crotch.

Looked like neither of them was too drunk to have some fun.


End file.
